


What You Want

by ForbiddenArcanum



Category: Original Work
Genre: Greaser, Happy Ending, Himbo, Humiliation, Inanimate Transformation, Jock - Freeform, M/M, Muscle Growth, Punk, Rich boy, everyone's gay for each other, fleshlight, greaser transformation, himbo transformation, hyper cock, hyper transformation, jock transformation, jockification, punk transformation, sorta - Freeform, surfer, surfer transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 20:25:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17814932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForbiddenArcanum/pseuds/ForbiddenArcanum
Summary: Three boys reminisce over the past four years they’ve spent together, and lament the coming years when they’ll be hundreds of miles apart. Thankfully, they’ve all got some mementos to remember each other by–although the memories might be a bit fresher than expected.





	What You Want

The banquet was spread in every color of the rainbow—red cranberries beckoned from their bowl to the violet grapes on the other side of the table. Steam rose from the meats and soups, refracting and bending the light as it traveled over bobbing potatoes and leeks in a soup bowl, and finally into the eyes of three incredibly hungry boys.

Charlie and Max were used to Lance’s family wanting to show off. After all, Lance’s house—or should they say manor? Manor definitely sounded cooler—was so far up and out of the way that it was nigh impossible to visit on a school night. By the time they were able to get up to the door, it would’ve been time to turn around and go home, and the busses definitely didn’t run that late.

Weekends, however, were a different story. The three boys met up after their classes let out, and stopped by their dorms for a few moments to change into what Charlie referred to as their “Sunday best”, which made Lance roll his eyes more than once.

“It’s a normal dinner, can you stop talking about it like it’s some fancy prom night?” Lance had said.

“I hate to break this to you,” Charlie had stifled a laugh. “Your house and everything about it prevents just about anything from being normal. Especially a dinner!”

And it was anything but normal, even for Lance. Upon hearing about Charlie and Max’s plans to visit, the entire manor had been up in arms, aiming to impress—after all, it was getting close to that time.

Max looked down at his feet, swinging them back and forth. Charlie put a hand on his back, the rough texture of Max’s suit scraping against his hand.

“Y’alright, buddy?”

“Yeah, just… it’s hard to think any of this is real right now, y’know?”

“I feel ya. It’s been four long years… but we’re almost out! Which is why Lance threw us this huge going away party—cause he loooooves us.”

“I didn’t throw you any party.” Lance gave a pointed glare at Charlie, noting his hardly-straight tie and his “formal” black beanie covering his short blonde hair. He was relentlessly casual, even in a place like this. Although Lance wasn’t all too keen on carrying his wealthy upbringing with him everywhere he went, he was a little pickier when it came to visitors. After all, he had an entirely separate image to show to friends and family. His family saw him as a young political science major slowly coming into his own, his youthful face and wonderfully coiffed black hair exemplifying just how well he’d been brought up.

When it came to his friends, however, he was a snarky asshole who enjoyed his fair share of pranks and more than a few paragraphs of banter. His fashion sense had begun to learn more towards Charlie’s as time progressed—flannels, jeans, and beanies—but the change in fashion didn’t come with a change in price tag. He was still regarded as the best dressed person on campus.

“…But I do love you two. I’ll give you that.”

“Okay, well, either way, I am ready to dig in.” Charlie rolled his eyes playfully, grabbing a serving fork and helping himself to a large plate of honey glazed ham. “You want anything, Max?” He gave Max a grin as his own tie accidentally fell into the gravy boat. “Ahhh, shit.”

“I’ll just have some vegetables, I’m okay. Don’t worry!” Max nervously laughed and adjusted his glasses, the table better coming into focus. He’d been looking down for so long, they’d slipped down his nose and nearly fallen onto the floor. “I’m really not hungry, so—” Try as he might to deny it, Max’s stomach let out perhaps the loudest growl either of the other boys had ever heard.

“Uh, yeah, not hungry my ass.”

“Your tush, Charlie, please.” Lance eyed Charlie and the servants just behind him.

“Ah, pardon me. Not tushy my ass.” Charlie snickered as he started loading up a plate for Max as well. “Either way, dude, you really gotta learn to take a favor or two—this food isn’t going much of anywhere except our stomachs. No point in denying it.”

“Ah, I, uh, I guess so. Heh.” Max blushed, his red glasses matching the shade of his cheeks, which were framed by his brown, wavy hair. Charlie and Lance sighed at him—caringly, of course. Max had been dealing with some things since before he had come to the university, and oftentimes ended up staying with Lance during breaks and summers. He didn’t like to talk about it very much, but from what he had said, his parents weren’t the most understanding people when it came to… issues.

“Listen, I promise you’re not overstaying your welcome by eating a piece of ham. They made all this for us, anyways, so it’s really a moot point.” Lance sighed, beginning to serve himself as well.

“Just us, though?” Charlie looked over, cocking his head. “Where are your parents?”

“Mom’s somewhere in New York. Albany, I think. She’s meeting up with some other university presidents and discussing… what was it again?” Lance stopped himself, taking a breath, before reciting in a very practiced tone of voice: “Lessons and instruction focused on the individual as opposed to the whole—an invitation to individual instruction and iterations of ideation: climbing concepts to coalesce into codified craft.”

“…Those words made sense separately.” Max eeked out before dissolving into giggles.

“Listen, I’m just telling you where she went. I’m not in charge of what my dad thinks is an appropriate title.”

“Well, he is a published author, so I suppose he’s onto something.” Charlie shrugged, finally sitting back down and cutting into his food, lifting out an enormous forkful which found its way into his mouth—and onto his pants.

“Charlie, you really gotta be more careful…” Max sighed, taking his napkin off of his lap and patting the stain dry—where it unfortunately still remained. “You’ll have to change out of those before it dries.”

“You act like I care about this suit—I’m gonna wear it when I graduate, and then it’s nothing but e-sports for me. If any team or interview requires that I wear a suit, I’ll just deny them. I’ll be a hotshot on an Overwatch team, so it’s gonna be my way or the highway.”

“That’s a very bold claim.” Lance snorted. “I mean… what if events after you get onto the team require formal dress?”

“Then I… I’ll… I’ll call up my good buddy Lance, who will happily buy me one and take me on a shopping spree that validates my life and makes us both closer friends?”

“Sure, why not.”

The three boys laughed, trading quips and jokes over mouthfuls of food. Full and tired, they made their way to the bedrooms as the maids cleaned up the dishes that were left, saran-wrapping and Tupperware-ing just about everything they could find. On the other hand, the boys were incredibly tired, and the digesting food in their stomachs wasn’t helping.

In mere moments, they had all changed into their pajamas. Charlie threw on an oversized white tee and a pair of basketball shorts, Max had grabbed a pair of ratty sweatpants and a borrowed shirt from Charlie, and Lance had monogrammed velveteen pajamas in a dark red shade, where a bright ‘L’ stood out on his chest in brilliant gold embroidery thread.

Stepping out of the guest rooms that were next to Lance’s (this branch of the manor’s “master bedroom”, as it were), the three boys settled down in the large and luxurious lounge for a time. The carpet was plush, a dark red like Lance’s pajamas, and the walls were a subdued, whitish-yellow, the dark brown molding providing slight accents to the room.

What was the real kicker, however, was the incredibly comfy black couch, bean bags, and mini fridge that were all set up next to an enormous flat-screen TV… which was connected to computers, game systems, and a cable box with too many channels to count on any set of fingers.

The boys, however, were less concerned with games and merriment that night—Max had arranged a certain sort of ‘secret Santa’, where Santa had been replaced by whatever mythological figure represented graduating and moving very far away from one another. Each boy had picked out one other’s name from a hat—which took quite some time since someone kept drawing their own name. Eventually, an order was settled, and each of them went out to buy the other a parting gift… with a price limit, of course. After all, if Lance could, he would’ve bought all of them houses, or at the very least a nice condo.

“Alright, does everyone have their gift?” Max asked, his hands trembling as he held a green-and-white box in his hands.

“Gift is a funny word,” Charlie laughed. He pulled out his own box, a jet black wrapping paper with a silver bow.

“I’ll say.” Lance snickered, pulling out his own gift, wrapped in light blue paper with a dark blue ribbon… and very clumsily wrapped, at that.

“Did you do that yourself?” Charlie snorted, falling into a fit of giggles.

“As a matter of fact, I did. And it’s for you. Ass.”

“Oh, uh, right. Thanks, then!” Charlie blushed, handing his present off to Max—who handed his to Lance, who finally handed his off to the seemingly ungrateful Charlie.

“Well, I guess it’s about time I found out what in here. In all its home-wrapped glory.”

“I’ll take it back if you really don’t want it.”

“I’m just teasing, dude, jeeze. Here, I’ll go first to show how much I love and appreciate you.” Lance rolled his eyes, his lips cracking into a small smile. As much as Charlie grated on his nerves, he loved him—although the grating part was very real.

Charlie ripped away at the wrapping paper with wild abandon, not wanting anything to do with little bits of tape. Max calmly got down on the floor and began picking up the smaller pieces from the carpet.

“It’s a… uh. What?” Charlie laughed, his face contorting into a mixture of laughter and disgust, in the same way one might when confronted with a disturbing image. He held the box in his hands, turning it over before laughing again, even more bewildered this time. The box was blue and white, like the wrapping paper, and had a curling, fancy font across the top, reading a brand name: Plexures: Pleasure with textures.

All of this around a large, white-and-blue fleshlight.

“Dude, what the absolute fuck? Oh my god, this is fucking hilarious. And it has…” Charlie peered closer. “‘Wave textures’? Like, on the inside there’s little wave patterns! Dude this is amazing, thank you so fucking much. I am never going to ever let you live this down.”

“It’s my pleasure, trust me.” Lance winked at Charlie, blushing a bit himself. “I found it in this nice little store uptown, near the boat docks. Figured it was fitting—you look like you belong on a beach 24/7 anyhow.”

“Oh my god, it comes with ‘sea scented lube’. Oh my god.”

“While Charlie is losing his mind, do you wanna go next, Max?”

As Charlie collapsed into a fit of laughter, Max cautiously unwrapped his box, sliding his fingernails under each piece of tape and opening it slowly, before fully discarding the whole sheet of wrapping paper in one piece.

“It’s uh, pomade?”

“Yeah!” Charlie managed to recover from his laughter, sitting up straight. “You’ve talked about wanting to redo your look, so I thought hair was as good a place to start as any! Y’know?”

“I-I, uh, I guess… Thanks.” Max looked at it, bewildered by the figures and instructions. He’d never used one of these in his life, and it was certainly an odd time to start. His fourth year of college… but what better time to try new things than now? “Yeah, thanks! I think I’ll try it out tomorrow.” He leaned over, hugging Charlie lightly before sitting back down, his legs crossed on the couch cushions.

“Alright, my turn, then. It’s pretty heavy and… long.”

“Like my dick.”

“You can verify that with your gift on your own time, Charlie.” Lance snickered, opening the box and pulling out a shiny, silver pole—with a tapered end and a black grip. In a dark black sharpie, it was signed with a spiky signature with a crown on top. “Is this…”

“I got Leon to sign a bat. I know you like him, so I went up to the baseball team… I made up this whole story about how I’m a huge fan, and they laughed, but I got him to sign it! And uh, check the bottom, too.”

Lance dug deeper, and pulled out a pure white CD—at first glance. Tilting it against the light, Leon’s name shone, written in a reflective material.

“I got some of his guitar samples, too. He’s got a few songs on there… I know how much you like it when he plays, so I tried to get you something you can take with you.”

“That’s… wow, that’s really amazing, Max! Wow, just… thank you, so much.”

“No problem. Least I could do, huh? After spending so much time here.”

“You can stay here as long as you want—especially after this.”

The three boys shared a loving glance, and then a bittersweet cuddlepuddle formed immediately after. Their minds were swimming with thoughts of graduation, of the future, of leaving each other behind. The gifts sat on the table, untouched for the rest of the evening as the boys held each other. A large blanket found its way onto the couch from Lance’s hands, and they snuggled warmly, watching movie after movie, late into the night… until finally, even Charlie’s moxie failed him, and the last boy awake found his eyes fluttering, taking him to dreamland.

The light of the digital clock blared loud and red into the darkness: 4:14 a.m. A slight shuffle and a mumbling from Max, and then a clatter of a box falling before hastily being picked up. A door quietly shutting, and a light flickering on.

Charlie stood in his guest room (“his” in that he was always assigned this one when he visited) with his back to the door. His chest shrunk as he sighed with relief, glad he didn’t wake up Max. After all, he was sure he would’ve followed him. They’d cuddled more times than he was comfortable admitting, even to Lance!

Alone now and with an enormous blue bed to lay on, Charlie threw himself into the comforting and pillowy embrace of the mattress. He carefully opened the box he’d brought along, pulling out a long, blue-and-white striped handle followed by a dark blue silicone base. He admired it for a moment, his hands shaking slightly—and his body jumping as something else fell out of the box.

“Seawater Silk?” He peered at the object, a small plastic bottle, and noticed a surfboard decal over a clear background. Inside was a clear liquid that looked thin as water. “Oh, uh, I guess this is…” He gulped, not wanting to say it. It would be like admitting he loved Lance’s gift… which was supposed to be a gag. So why were his shorts getting SO tight?

He uncapped the bottle and poured some straight into the hole on the underside of the fleshlight, and salty sea breeze hit his nose within seconds. He felt so calm, so drawn to it—it was crashing waves on a sunny day, the feeling of a cool breeze across a body covered in tanning oil, sand beneath your feet and a volleyball in your hands.

When his eyes came back into focus, his cock was already inside the dark blue hole, and he could suddenly feel… everything. His arm moved up and down slowly, his cock pushing into it and feeling the crest of every wave in the pattern, every dip afterwards, and every tightening and loosening along his entire shaft. His gasps came fast and sharp as he started pounding the toy to his base, then back up to his tip, over and over and over.

He’d never felt anything like it. The visions of the beach, the feeling of the waves along his cock, his precum dripping out of him like a river and mixing in with the lube—and within minutes, he found himself laying on his back. With a few final thrusts, he arched his back, crying out as quietly as he could, holding back his true screams of pleasure. His balls tensed, and his shaft throbbed as he dumped thick ropes of cum into the fleshlight, the entire hole feeling warm and sticky and ever so satisfying. He kept pumping, milking himself… and as he pumped, his balls felt… full. So fucking full and ready to go again. He kept pumping—and noticed the flow wasn’t slowing down. More and more cum dumped out, eventually spilling out of the fleshlight, but he couldn’t stop. His blue eyes crossed together as his smile wobbled and he laughed, drooling in pleasure as his cock took him to Heaven.

It wasn’t until his eyes caught a glint that he finally slowed down—and stopped. The curtains were drawn, but the air conditioning in the room blew the curtains back every so often—and the first glimpse of sunlight peeked its way through! He’d been fucking for hours… It was already 7:00! He looked down, and was shocked to find himself in an enormous pool of cum, surrounded by the dark blue of wet bedsheets.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit—” Charlie quickly got up and removed the fleshlight—and stopped, stumbling and refocusing his eyes… Wait, something wasn’t… right…

Along with a torrent of cum spilling out and onto the carpet (“Shit.”), he noticed the fleshlight just… fell out of his hands. He couldn’t hold it with just one anymore. It was… enormous. It clattered to the floor, and he saw the true size of it. The shaft was thick as a two liter soda bottle, and the actual hole part was twice as wide as that.

“But… but it was so tight!” Charlie looked down—and finally realized it wasn’t his legs that were cum-soaked.

His cock brushed against the carpet, tanned brown against his otherwise pale skin. His blonde pubes were neatly trimmed, and past them he could see two enormous, swinging balls. They sloshed and jiggled, and as they moved, exposed his thighs—and oh god, the stench!

He smelled like he’d been working out all day, and like the ocean was his only shower. He couldn’t believe how jocky he smelled. A day at the skate park was nothing compared to this…  
And then there was a knock at the door.

“Charlie, time to get up. I know we were up super late, but if we wanna get to the beach before anyone else and grab a good spot…” The door clicked, and slowly started to open.

“Nonono don’t come in, I’m—”

But it was too late. Lance’s eyes widened.

“Charlie, what the FUCK is that?!”

“I-It’s uh… a toy!”

“It’s attached to you.”

“Okay, listen, I can explain, it’s—”

“Ugh!” Lance pinched his nose shut. “That STENCH, what did you do? Listen, I’m just. We can talk about this later or something. Just… put that away. Jeeze.” Lance looked away, his cheeks red as he angrily slammed the door shut.

Charlie gulped, his body shaking and his eyes welling up with tears a bit. His crush saw him in his birthday suit—with this terrifying beast of a cock, no less! The worst part was probably the fact that it was like his body knew… and his cock was hard and standing nearly straight up. The tanned skin taunted his face, and he gulped, grabbing onto it with both hands and jacking off.

Within seconds, the thought of Lance discovering his embarrassing new secret and the enormous, sensitive cock skin was enough to make him shoot out buckets. It soaked the ceiling, and ran down all of the walls, leaving Charlie in a jizz-soaked room as he tried his best to shove it back into his shorts. It was an enormous bulge… But maybe he could play it off.

As he walked out into the common room, he shut the door tight, but he found nobody there—the other two were getting ready, it seemed.

Meanwhile, Max was in the bathroom, finishing up his morning routine. Teeth brushed, gums flossed, hair washed and dried, and his glasses set next to the sink. Today, he thought, would be a little different, though. He reached into his medicine bag, taking an allergy pill before pulling out his true showstopper: a contact case. He struggled for a few minutes, trying not to blink or drop them as he slid them onto his eyes—but he finally got it. The world was in focus, and… he looked very cute without the glasses.

That wasn’t all that was going to change today! Spurred onwards by his positive results, he twisted off the lid on the pomade Lance gave him. He scooped it up—and it smelled like salon grade product. What else could he expect from the richest boy he knew? He rubbed it between his hands, warming it up and then working it into his hair. The white paste quickly became clear as it was spread thin across each hair, and he washed his hands of the excess. The entire bathroom smelled so nice now! So fancy, and… did confident have a smell? He shook his shoulders out, smirking at himself and winking in the mirror before giggling. His hair still looked quite the mess, however, so he grabbed a comb and set to work with a blow dryer.

Oh man, this was going to be so cool! He couldn’t believe the amount of work that would have to go into this every morning, but it was already looking amazing. And without even trying, it looked like he already mastered the pompadour! It was curved so nicely, and every comb-through was just making it nicer. He thought of Charlie and Lance complimenting him, wanting to touch it, even wanting one themselves—they’d look up to him, want him, kiss him, fuck him—wait, what?

Max stopped, gulping and laughing quietly to himself. How long had he been combing his hair with this stuff? He reached over to the tin, thinking he might need some more pomade—but when looked up to the mirror, his jaw just about dropped.

His hair was huge. It was a thick, curled-in-the-front pomp that sat three inches in front of his forehead. He didn’t even have that much hair! He was pretty sure the back must’ve looked awful with this—but a quick picture with his phone determined otherwise. It was beautifully tapered, although he wasn’t sure if it was always such a clean and nice ‘v’ shape in the back.

No matter, he’d just… comb it down and try again.

Except when he did, he found the comb had a lot of difficulty going the other way—and the pushed-down hair stayed there for a few seconds… before springing right back into place. Was it… bigger? He combed it again—and the pomp was an inch further out. This was getting weird. But… strangely fun.

It was so fun, he almost didn’t notice his bulge in his sweatpants. Almost.

One hand moved down to his crotch, stroking himself as he combed again. Bigger. Again. Five inches. Again. Seven inches. He was gasping, cheeks red as he looked into the mirror. He was so cool with this. So different, so unique—Charlie and Lance would love him.

Comb, eight, comb, nine, comb, ten—he had to stop there. It was already looking unnatural, but his cock—fuck, his cock was throbbing so hard! He could hardly resist it. He looked down to see the mess he’d cause in his underwear, and nearly screamed.

The enormous cock sitting in his pants couldn’t have been his own. His pubes were jet black, and the cock looked more akin to a bad dragon dildo than the modest 4-incher he had before. It throbbed and pulsed at the lack of combing, and as Max’s new pomp bounced, it spurted out some pre-cum right into his briefs, soaking them quickly.

Shocked, Max stumbled backwards, his feet catching in his lowered pants, causing him to land on the top of the toilet cover. His cock sprung up, two heavy balls letting loose and jiggling and sloshing. He stroked it, and his eyes went wide as he felt how good it was.

“Oh, f-fuck yes…” He whispered to himself, surprised. He wasn’t even prone to that kind of language—but it felt so right. Stroke after stroke, he felt the cock surging and pulsing in his hands, growing larger and larger until it was as thick as a streetlamp post and his balls were two enormous watermelons. He couldn’t hold back anymore—he came so hard that the cum made a slapping sound against the ceiling that was like a backhand against Charlie’s juicy ass.

Wait, what?

No, no, he couldn’t think about that, he couldn’t! But it was too late. His cock surged again, and his orgasm doubled up, his cock throbbing erratically as it pumped out a second surge of warm, juicy cum all over the bathroom and the mirrors, filling up the sink, the tub, and everything else around him, leaving only his cum and phone untouched as he panted for breath.

Wait, his phone.

It was on.

There was a red light next to the camera.

“No, no, no—” Max stumbled forwards, slipping out of his pajama pants and briefs as he stepped over the puddles of cum. The phone light went off and sent one simple message to its user:

[RECORDING SENT]

“T-To who…?” Max’s face turned beet red and his eyes widened in horror as he saw the recipient: Charlie.

[Don’t open that!!! Don’t do it please I’m begging you]

He texted Charlie as fast as he could, and hopped around on his tip-toes, panicking about what to do next. The bathroom was a lost cause. All he could do was get dressed and get out to the common area before anyone suspected anything. Maybe Charlie was already awake! He could delete it before he even saw it! He slipped on his tight, white t-shirt (his hair miraculously undisturbed) and then a pair of… gulp… white briefs and black skinny jeans. Ugh, why was this all he packed?! His bulge stood out like a sore thumb. Maybe he could just say it was his swimsuit…? He sighed, resigning himself and pocketing his phone with great difficulty… and the comb in his back pocket. He grabbed the pomade before he left the bathroom, his mind swimming with how he was going to explain this… he felt like a monster.

Waiting in the common room for him were Charlie and Lance. Charlie looked like he had been there a while, settled in with pillows on top of him. Lance was packing up a bag of some sort, with the signed bat in the larger pocket, sticking straight out.

“U-Uh, hey guys.”

“Oh, h—eeeeeey…” Charlie looked at Max’s crotch immediately, his lips curling into a bit of a smile. “What’s uh, what’s that?”

“My… swimsuit?”

“Oh.” Charlie threw his gaze to the floor, and Max could’ve sworn he heard a ‘shit’.

“You picked out a very fluffy one.” Lance joked, zipping everything up and tossing it over his back. His black tank top and thin, washed-out jeans were perfect wear for a beach day. The only odd thing was the black boots.

“Those aren’t gonna be easy to take off, you know.” Charlie mentioned. “And uh, why are you bringing the bat?”

“Yeah, but most of my wardrobe is fancy stuff. Boots are about the closest thing I have to casual in the footwear department, so. And I’m just appreciating what a nice gift it is. Thank you again, Max.”

“You’re hoping he’s there. Wait, as a matter of fact, doesn’t the team have a beach day today—” Charlie pulled out his phone.

“W-Wait, don’t—” Max stuck out his hand, running over.

“Oh, a message from Max!” He played it immediately—and Max stumbled over his own shoes, falling down and accepting defeat. “It’s… Uh… w-wow… Woah… WOAH…” Charlie’s face blushed incredibly red—and the pillows on him suddenly started to fall off of his lap. But he didn’t care. He just kept watching. The small, light, breathy moans coming from his speakers entranced all three of the boys.

“I… what was that?” Lance blinked, looking at Charlie—and finally at his crotch. “And what is THAT?”

“Listen, I, uh… Max and I have… the same… issue, I think.”

“We do?!” Max leapt up, and gasped at Charlie’s enormous bulge. “We do!”

“I… how did this even happen?” Lance sighed, hand against his forehead. “I thought Charlie was just being weird, but this is… extraordinarily strange.”

“I dunno, I just… used… the gift you gave me…”

“Are you allergic or something?!”

“No, really!” Max chimed in. “I used the stuff Charlie got me, a-and that’s when it started!”

“Oh, please.” Lance picked up his backpack, putting it on and shaking his head. “There’s no way that the both of you had the same reaction to two different things. It’s probably just that you both did something dumb last night. Those were some pretty odd snacks the maids gave us…”

“Uh, Lance.” Charlie coughed.

“And maybe your allergy pills are the reason. After all, they could be expired. You got them in bulk—and Charlie, don’t think I don’t know you take them. Jeeze, what could this be…”

“Lance.”

“What, Charlie? I’m in the middle of trying to figure this out—for my sanity and yours, fuckmunch.” Lance covered his mouth, leaving Max stunned—but Charlie largely unaffected, who continued to point to Lance’s crotch. Lance looked down to see his jeans nearly bursting at the seams… his bulge was bigger than he’d ever seen it, and a small wet spot was forming on one side from his leaking cockhead. It pulsed and throbbed even bigger. “Oh my god.”

“Yyyeah. I dunno what it is—but the sooner we get out of here, the better. I think something’s in the house or something—and I’m not missing beach day because I’ve got a huge dick, alright?” Charlie scoffed. “Fuck that noise, brah.” He blinked a few times. Brah. What a weird word. But hey, it was… semi-ironic, right?

“Yeah, let’s get out of here. Too stuffy, I gotta get out and get some air… clear my head. Bet it’ll feel nice on my hair, too.” Max stopped and blinked as well. Everything felt so weird…

“Alright, let me just. Assess. The damage. Okay? Okay.” Lance marched over to his bathroom, connected to his room, and looked in the mirror. His coif was a bit disheveled, and his bulge was so noticeable there was no way to fix it. “Well, if I can fix one thing…” Lance sighed, taking a comb to his hair, but the movement was hard and painful. By the time he got it to resemble a coif again, he was almost out of breath.

“Are you ready yet?” Max called out, surprisingly impatient. “I’m waiiiting!”

“Max, that’s kinda rude.”

“And I’m a little stressed right now!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Lance sighed—and looked back at the mirror one last time. The coif was gone, and the messy fauxhawk style he had before was back. He tensed up—but he didn’t want to think about this stuff anymore. He just wanted to get out of there, to where things made sense again.

Before long, all three of them were sat inside of a limo—just taking them to where the boardwalk started, and then they’d be off. All three boys rode in relative silence, and the chauffeur neglected to say anything to them—probably thinking it was some sort of practical joke.

“We just play it cool.” Lance said, breaking the silence as they arrived. “Nobody will notice if we don’t act like anything’s wrong.”

He stepped out first, followed by Charlie, and then by Max. The sweltering near-summer sun was pounding down on them, and the salty ocean breeze wafted by them and into the many waiting stands on the boardwalk. There were tons of people, all in swimwear and other various revealing clothing.

Charlie was the first to start panicking.

“Okay, just calm down, Lance and Max have got you.” He gulped, and took a deep breath… but the scent of the ocean only reminded him of the lube, of the fleshlight, of that feeling of pounding into a tight ass, feeling like the king of the beach, wanting nothing but that for days on end… it was a burning desire that was intensifying with every step the three of them took. It was about halfway down the boardwalk when the burning became something he couldn’t handle.

And apparently his shirt couldn’t handle it either.

His chest heaving, Charlie was breathing through his mouth in huge breaths—bigger than he ever thought possible. His shirt strained and creaked as he looked towards the open and inviting ocean—and as he saw an enormous wave crest over the horizon, there was a loud RRRRIP as his t-shirt fell onto the boardwalk in pieces. Max and Lance turned around, their heads whipping about in sync with the rest of the people close to them.

Charlie’s blue eyes went wide as he stammered, backing up from something encroaching on his vision… but it wasn’t getting any further away. He reached up, grabbing his chest—and two enormous, pillowy pecs were pulsing, flexing, growing out of him steadily and blocking his vision… the nipples were so soft and huge, and his chest felt so heavy… With a single squeeze, he could feel the immense weight of the muscle—and the jolt that ran down his arms afterwards.

His mind filled with the scent of the ocean breeze, and his arms burned with a need to move and to grow. They twitched and spasmed, growing in one after the other, his biceps, triceps, and forearms growing bigger and bulking up as he released his pecs. His arms hung out to the sides, pushed aside by his meaty chest, and his hands grew thicker and stronger with each passing second.

“M-Max, Lance! I-I don’t… brah, what’s going on?! I can’t see, brah! Like, it’s… it’s so…” He couldn’t even finish his sentence as the wind was knocked out of him with a swift movement of his abdomen. His stomach tightened into knots before relaxing, and a quick swipe of his hand gave him a feel of the immense crests and valleys of his new abs.

“I don’t—I don’t know what to do, brahs! It’s like, totes fuckin’ gnarly, dudes!” His eyes crossed as he felt some sort of a burning in his armpits—and a ringing in his ears. Lance slowly approached him, trying to calm him down, but as Charlie lifted his arms, a stench hit him like a shockwave—and he found himself on the ground, his backpack falling a few feet away from him.

As Charlie stumbled and tried to get used to his new body, his thighs started to burn and grow, quads popping up like well-filled balloons… and throwing him off balance as both his pants and his underwear tore themselves to shreds with a satisfying SHHRRRK! And with a dizzied stomp stomp stomp—there was a huge CRASH! As Charlie tripped and landed right on his ass… or more accurately, right onto Lance’s face.

He couldn’t stop now. His hand grabbed onto his enormous tanned cock, and every pump of it intensified everything. His legs pumped up, his calves became enormous, and his feet grew and grew—size 12 to 15, 15 to 20, and 20 to 25. They were becoming so big, size wouldn’t even matter anymore. Nobody would make shoes that big—and the musk he was putting off was multiplying so fast he wasn’t sure anyone would accept him in any storefront.

“Brah, you GOTTA do something!” Charlie wiggled his ass, trying to get a hold of his new form as the changes continued. Every pump made his skin tanner, his body bigger… his pecs and feet grew twice as fast as anything else, and he was getting huge quick. His spine cracked and stretched as his height surged—five feet to six, to seven, to eight—and his head felt so hot… Just like his muscles had before. Something was happening, and Charlie somehow knew what was coming. He grabbed onto Max, unable to see him under his pec shelf, and tried to hold him close, shoving his face right into his musky pits by accident. Max struggled as Lance did, flailing and slapping his hands against Charlie’s somehow unfeeling new bod.

“Brah, listen, I-I feel weird, brah, it’s like, totes weird, brah!” He felt himself losing the vocabulary to express what he wanted to—but he felt like he could nail it if he tried. He strained himself, and looked straight ahead to take a breath… and froze.

Cameras, all around him. Buff and half-naked beach jocks, all filming him, laughing and jeering at his form, cackling about how disgusting the transformation was, how it must be some kind of joke. He must be some kind of weird parade balloon. Maybe he wasn’t human.

His phone buzzed a foot away. His enormous arm instinctively picked it up, swiping to look at his notifications. News stories abound about some terrifying mutant boy who became an enormous jocky monster on the boardwalk… and the articles were littered with pictures of him.

“What? What is it?!” Max tried to pull himself out of Charlie’s pit—but was shoved back in by the elastic muscle, continuing to struggle. Charlie’s phone clattered on the boardwalk, out of his hand as his eyelids lowered. His life, if he made it out of this, was over. Whatever burning feeling was in his head felt almost no resistance as it ravaged the rest of his brain, draining his intellect, his memories of school, and any knowledge of college applications he had planned.

His eyes closed for a minute—and another shockwave of musk burst throughout the crowd, pushing the jocks and Max back—and Lance further into the floor, if that was possible.

Charlie stood up, stretching his enormous limbs as a pukka shell necklace draped itself around his neck, a thin blue-and-white striped speedo strapped his enormous bulge to himself, and enormous, musky, size 30 skate shoes wrapped around his feet in light blue. His chest heaved with a moan as he pulled out his enormous, six foot cock, thicker than any of the jocks in front of him. It throbbed, splattering the knocked-over jocks with cum and pre-cum, and a bulge traveled its way up his cock, slowly coming up to his head…

“N-Nnngh… I… Max, I…” He struggled, trying to say something, anything—before his balls tensed and he came buckets, sending out streams of thick cum onto the crowd of jocks, and a pristine white-and-blue surfboard launched from his cock, which he instantly snatched up.

“GOTTA CATCH SOME WAAAVES, BRAH! It’s like, totes high time for some gnarly fuckin’ waves! So like, let’s fuckin’ get out there, bros!” He chuckled, stomping over to the jocks—the ones splattered with his cum stood up, now tanned and buffer than before, laughing and charging into the beach. Charlie turned back to Max, his eyes an ice blue and his grin goofy and dumb as can be. “And Max, yo, tell Lance we’re like, totes fuckin’ comin’ to smoke later! Catch ya soon, cutie.” He stomped off, thundering towards the waves that awaited him across the sandy shore.

Max stood there, confused and turned on and so, so devastated. What had happened to Charlie? Why was it so fucking… hot?! Why couldn’t he stop swearing, even in his head? He felt so hopeless, so strange, and so… mystical. Everything felt like a weird dream. He wished Lance was there—he always knew how to—wait.

Max looked down at a cross-eyed Lance who was gasping for breath.

“Oh, shit!” Max leaned down, helping Lance up. His face smelled like Charlie’s musk—and his fauxhawk was dyed partially green from it! “A-Are you okay?”

“I-I think so… what happened to… Charlie…” Lance looked to the right as his vision focused, locking onto the behemoth that was the new surfer boy. “…Fuck.”

“Yeah, I… I don’t even know, man.” Max shook his head, his pomp shaking back and forth with it. He procured his comb from his back pocket, nervously combing through his pomp and stammering to Lance. “H-he just got huge, all of a sudden, and really weird, and started smelling, and—”

“U-Uh, Max, you’re… you’re…” Lance stammered right back, his body shaking and his eyes going wide as he looked at his friend…

Max looked down—his t-shirt was bulging with a set of biceps he didn’t even know he had, and his eyes refocused as his contacts vanished, a pair of glasses sitting in front of him instead. No, not glasses… just frames.

“L-Lance… what’s going on…?” Max gulped, noticing his eyes were less bothered by the sun… and saw the glasses gaining a slight tinge as black lenses formed between the frames. His pomp grew larger, blocking out some of the sun, and from this angle it almost looked… black?

“Max, you’re… no, not you, too!” Lance backed up into a fence, finding there was nowhere to go—but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the spectacle that Max was becoming.

“M-Me too? No, that’s—” Max’s expression suddenly shifted as his pomp surged, the brown hair turning entirely black and the length bumping up by an entire foot. The hair almost touched Lance’s face as Max closed in. “That’s fucking stupid!” He grinned. “You think I’m gonna give in to some stupid as shit fuckin’ faggot-ass changin’?” Max laughed—a masculine, booming, demeaning laugh that shook Lance to his core.

“M-Max, this isn’t like you! Snap out of it!” Lance slapped him hard across the cheek, panting hard and shivering from the fear.

“L-Lance?” Max’s green eyes flashed from green to blue, then back to green. “I-I feel…” He stumbled forwards, his blue suede shoes skidding against the sand his hands resting on Lance’s shoulders. “What’s… happening to me?”

“I-I don’t know, Max, I’m… your chest…!” Lance watched in horror as what took place while he was trapped under Charlie now took place in front of his very eyes. Max’s pecs bulged and popped out, his nipples poking through the shirt like they were piercings. His arms throbbed and swelled, his waist cinching tighter as his entire top half took on a wide ‘v’ shape. His pomp throbbed bigger, the jet black hair growing big enough to be called something beyond just an ordinary pomp. “M-Max…?” Was all Lance could tearfully choke out.

“Lance, I…” Max’s eyes stung as he realized how much he was scaring his friend. His friend, who always doted on him, offered him a place to stay, and reassured him when he came to him with a teary face and a black eye, was looking at him like a mouse when cornered by a cat. “I…” His heart burned with embarrassment, his body shaking as he tried to do anything to shut it away, to make this awful, terrible feeling disappear!

And the burning stopped, his head and his heart calming as a thick leather jacket appeared over his shoulders, tight around the biceps and tapered to his figure. His bulge was sealed in with a belt that wrapped around his thin waist, engraved with a cursive ‘M’ on the buckle. His spine snapped up higher, making him taller than Charlie, even without the pomp. His quads and calves grew into lean muscle, and his feet caused the shoes to stretch out to a size about two-thirds the size of Charlie’s.

“I…” Max began. “Don’t… fucking care, man.” He roughly slammed a finger into Lance’s chest, his shades showing his eyes as they slid down his nose. A bright, icy blue. “I don’t give a shit what the fuck you think, got it? I’m not yer fuckin’ li’l bro or some shit, yeah? I’m my own fuckin’ dude. You can apologize later when yer suckin’ my dick. Tell Charlie to fuckin’ hurry it up with the weed. I ain’t in the mood for waitin’.”

With that, the enormous greaser stepped aside, his leathery musk trailing after him as he took off thundering across the boardwalk. A few seconds later, he pulled someone aside. A short, skinny, blond twink. He pulled out his cock, and slammed it into the boy, causing him to cry out—but only for a second. As if by magic—and Lance was pretty sure he knew what this terrifying, torturous magic looked like—the boy’s limbs changed and melded into metal, his body stretching and moving to fit curves and contours it was never meant to… and he did it all with a moan. By the end of the twink’s sweet, soft call—it was over. And Max hopped right onto his new bike, revving the engine and speeding off down the boardwalk.

Lance swore the revving sounded like moans.

But he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything. He ran to the edge of the boardwalk, backpack slamming against his back. His bulge bounced against his thighs as his boots clattered against the old, warped wood. He chased Max as far as he could before losing sight of him, his eyes filled with tears and his lungs heaving up air from running and trying his best not to cry.

His two best friends in the world—gone. An enormous stoner who cared more about catching waves than about e-sports, and his timid friend that he had such a soft spot for that he dared to say he loved him was now an enormous bully with an ego bigger than his cock, who could turn a boy into a bike without so much as a morsel of regret.

The end of the boardwalk was desolate. Nobody was around. The only things left there were pieces of broken down amusement park rides. Lance looked at them, seeing the smiling face of a cartoon boy through his tears.

“…You think it’s fucking funny?” Lance growled, almost barking at the non-sentient hunk of metal. “You think it’s FUNNY?!” He dropped his bag onto the wooden walkway, and in one fell swoop, lifted the metal bat from its pocket to swing it at the smiling, taunting face.

With an enormous and ear rattling clang, the face was dented—but only slightly. Lance huffed and heaved, looking into the funhouse mirror situated right behind it. It was cracked, but his reflection stood there. A partly green fauxhawk, a red and teary face, and a bat in his hands.

He felt disgusting.

Alone.

He swung again—and again, and again, not even noticing the burning in his arms as they grew and grew. He ignored the tingling feeling on his wrists as black banded tattoos formed around them, opting to swing at the other happy and taunting faces of the cartoon decals. Every swing brought him closer to what he wanted—something he couldn’t put a finger on, but it was… satisfying. It was some kind of retribution for all the shit he’d been through. Something to be proud of, something to reach for now that nobody else was there to help him.

And fuck, it was making him so hard.

His jeans slipped down as his enormous cock pushed out of his pants, the balls following soon after. It was pulsing, dripping, and spraying pre-cum with every hit…

“Is this what you want?!” Lance yelled at it, huffing and drooling, seething with rage. “Then you’ll FUCKING GET IT!” He slammed his bat into whatever it could find—the fencepost, the mirror, the carts, the trash can… not even noticing, or perhaps not caring, as a garden of flower tattoos traced its way up his forearm, as a back tattoo scrawled ‘PUNK OR DIE’ on his back with a flaming skull, and as a piercing stabbed right through his tongue, a small silver ball right in the middle.

He huffed and panted, surveying his bout of destruction, and caught his own eye in a shard of the mirror. He looked at it—his fauxhawk had turned completely mohawk, standing six inches tall in a bright green color. He touched it—and felt a surge in his cock as it grew even bigger, his pubes going from black to a bright green themselves. His hands trembled as he watched new piercings stab themselves right into his ears and his eyebrows. With a shaky voice, one that was gruffer than he remembered, he whispered to the bat.

“Just fucking do it.”

As if hearing it, he felt his body launch into a burning fury—like everything itched and he couldn’t scratch any of it. He let out a long, anguished and pleasured scream as he grew and grew, his body turning into a living sculpture, his features being played with like clay. His pecs exploded, his abs tightened, and his ass grew and grew until it basically hung out of his jeans. The same juicy ass he sat under as Charlie gassed him with musk, and the same one that Max just rode away with. His legs strained what little was left of the torn jeans, and he winced as his shaft was pierced with several barbells, each one growing with his enormous length.

His hair felt heavier as the green ‘hawk grew and grew—he was the shortest of the three, but he wasn’t about to be outdone. Not the new Lance. His ‘hawk reached up, thickening out to three or four inches, standing straight up like a zebra’s mane at 3 feet tall. His new seven foot height only made it all the more impressive as he admired himself in the mirror. The bat in his hand grew with him, heavier and stronger. He slung it over his shoulder as he watched his brown eyes shift to a bright green, and licked his lips.

“I said,” he muttered, more authoritative now. “Fucking. Do it.”

His cock exploded with cum, surging larger and larger, passing three feet, four feet—settling finally at five and a half. He panted, his mind going hazy as any formal upbringing in his mind was replaced with punk rock shows, sex, and musical knowledge.

“Dude, the fuck…?”

Lance turned around. Standing there was a boy with black, swept back hair and tanned skin with the most luscious lips he’d ever seen. And even in his drunken, punky haze, he could recognize him.

“Leon.” Lance growled happily as he thundered forwards—grabbing the boy’s head. “I am gonna have some fun with you.” His smile turned sadistic—and Leon hardly had a chance to respond as his trunks were ripped off his fit body, and he was thrust down onto the boardwalk. “Here, let’s start off with some payback. You gave me this… so I’ll give it to you, dude!” He laughed as the tip of the metal bat slowly started to push against Leon’s asshole—and the cold feeling make him yelp more than he already was.

“W-who—what are you?!” Leon cried out before his mouth was silenced with a juicy, thick tongue from Lance. The bat kept going deeper, past Leon’s signature, all the way to the handle… seemingly not obeying any anatomy that Leon was sure he had. But his head felt so fuzzy, so fluffy… his… mind was like cotton candy. He didn’t even feel his ass being lifted off the boardwalk by his enormous, juicy ass growing and expanding. His muscles perked up as they gained a nice reaffirming pump, and his lips became even plumper… his brown eyes turned to a beautiful green as his hair dyed itself to platinum blonde, and his cock began rocketing up towards his face.

Leon was so overcome with pleasure—so excited that a punk boy was fucking him, and so violently, and that stench from his pits—that he gave in instantly. His enormous cock was wrapped up in pink booty shorts and his chest in a gold crop top before he even knew what was happening. Within seconds of his new, himbo-fying transformation, he came buckets from his three foot cock, soaking his shorts and pulling back from Lance’s face.

“Babe, that was like, sooo hot! Like, why didn’t you do that before?”

“I know what I got. I just like to tease ya, Leon.” Lance snickered, poking him in his stomach, causing Leon to giggle.

“Well take me home~ I wanna hear you sing for me! And it’s like, hot out here! It’s gonna ruin my makeup.”

“Anything for my little slutbunny.” Lance grinned, scooping the himbo up onto his shoulder—and moaning as his cock bulged and surged… producing a red electric guitar, coated in cum, that he strapped onto his back without a second thought.

The walk home was short with his new legs, and upon the hill that his mansion used to sit was something even bigger. White, marble pillars stood tall in a display of fantastically rich Greek architecture, and water features littered the hedge-maze gardens. Beyond the enormous mahogany doors were the two best friends he’d known his entire life—the people he lived there with, no servants or parents to speak of.

“Yooo, dude, finally! I was like, worried you weren’t gonna make it brah!” Charlie called out, promptly taking a rip from his bong and passing it to Max.

“I was harsh on ya—cause I knew you could take it. You ain’t no fuckin’ pussy fag.” He shot Lance a finger-gun before taking the bong himself.

Lance stepped inside, shutting the door behind him, and sat down on the floor, tossing Leon into the middle of all three of them.

“I getcha, man, shit’s tough sometimes.” Lance shrugged. “Not much you can do, dude. Just gotta rock out—and fuck it away.” He reached over to the entertainment center, turning on his newest album that he’d produced with Leon as a backup vocalist. Leon sighed, melting at the sounds of his punk boyfriend’s fingers on the strings.

“I could listen to that all night.”

“Yeah, but unfortunately for you, slutbunny, you gotta make some music of your own.”

“Oh?”

“C’mon, boys.”

Lance grinned as he whipped his cock out, the other two boys doing the same—and Leon turned over, spreading his enormous ass cheeks for all three of them. Within seconds, the boys were roaring with laughter and moans as they pounded the has-been baseball star in his ass, using him like a sex toy to his delight. Their musk filled the air—Charlie’s surfer stink, Max’s leather scent, and Lance’s body odor flowing through the entire mansion. Thrust after thrust against their bros’ cocks left them feeling sensitive and ready to burst—and they took no time in unloading gallon after gallon of huge, jocky, musky cum into Leon’s ass.

Exhausted, they fell back into a pile, Leon leaning against their enormous legs.

“Fuck, brah.” Charlie panted. “That was good shit.”

“Damn right it was.” Max laughed. “Slutbunny is gonna stay here for a while.”

“Uh, it can be forever, man. I don’t ever wanna leave this place.” Lance said. He looked up to the door, and then back to his friends.

“…And I don’t think I’m ever gonna.”


End file.
